City of Stars: Dangerous
by The Sith Virtuoso
Summary: A night of galactic high society. Two assassins at the top of their game. A dance to be remembered and more. A Jango x Zam fic. Rated R for obvious reasons. The first of a planned anthology of various SW couples both classic (EU) and new canon. Reviews are always appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

**It's been good to write again; forgive the hiatus. I had been studying for my board exams for the previous months and am happy to say that I passed. I hope to make the most of the creative fever that has since possessed me and hopefully this first try is a satisfactory one.**

**All characters property of LucasArts and Disney - SV**

* * *

**I**

If there was one kind of mark Zam Wesell hated; ironically, it was the rich and influential type.

_This is so not my day_, she glumly thought.

Her current mark was _the_ Aucrates Hallyre, heir to Industrial Automaton, of all people.

"Rich" and "influential" could not even begin to describe the kind of wealth and power he had in his hands as the chosen successor to his grandsire, current head of one of the two greatest corporations in the galaxy.

With such an insane level of wealth and power, one would expect such an individual to have his fair share of brash eccentricities.

That he was half-Zeltron with a flair for the dramatic, a taste only for the finest, and a reputation for spending more than entire star systems earn in decades seemed only natural.

So of course, on his thirtieth birthday, he had to outdo his previous one on Canto Bight.

There was only one world in the galaxy that would suffice.

_Coruscant of course_, Zam frowned to herself.

It was not because she had to resort to more complex methods of subterfuge that irritated her; instead it was that she had to literally get close and personal to her mark for her to succeed. Hallyre's bacchanalian tastes notwithstanding, he was intelligent enough to know the importance of security befitting a man of his stature and he certainly had paid lavishly in ensuring it.

So there the Clawdite assassin—currently in her favorite guise, a buxom, raven-haired young human female—sat adjacent the grand ballroom's bar in a deep azure halterneck gown and faux-moonstone mask. She made herself appear busy sampling the many rare and exorbitant vintages from a goblet hand-carved from pure diamond, impatiently watching her target's every move as he greeted and laughed with the select crowd he had invited.

Unlike his previous birthdays, the half-Zeltron playboy had decided that he would grow up a bit this time around. So instead of launching another one of his infamous and orgiastic raves for the galaxy's ridiculously rich and powerful, he had opted for a more subdued—if even more opulent—approach; a three-day long masquerade ball for which he had leased the entire Palace of Clouds, the galaxy's most exclusive resort and casino, floating high above even the towering ecumenopolis of the capital.

If anything, it made Zam's job way more difficult.

It had been a challenge to find someone competent enough to forge credentials so that she could pass through security, but now she had to play the game of high society—something she abhorred—in order to get close to her goal.

She had no choice for her employer was just as powerful as her target.

It was the second night of celebration—Hallyre's actual birthday was on the third day—and the crowd was bustling and waiting for the clock to strike at midnight, scarce a few hours away.

Zam had already done a thorough sweep of the guest list beforehand by hacking into the resort's central computer and so she spent the first evening pretending to socialize when in fact she was personally sizing up the crowd who had attended the occasion. It wouldn't do well for an up-and-coming bounty hunter such as her to botch up a job this risky. Conversely, pulling it off would bolster both her reputation and bank account considerably.

Be that as it may, Zam Wesell was losing her patience.

_When is he _ever _going to be alone?_

It was one thing to infiltrate the place, another to ingratiate herself with the galaxy's elite, and another world altogether to isolate her mark for a quick, clean and untraceable kill.

_That's right_, she thought, absentmindedly brushing past the microsyringe filled with kouhunin—synthetic derivatives of the venom produced by the eponymous arthropods infamous for causing instant, painless death from those they fed upon—hidden on a garter she wore around her thigh, _but how?_

He had bodyguards shadowing him constantly at a not unreasonable distance. She knew that she could have gotten past them though. What the female Clawdite found insufferable was the entourage Hallyre inexplicably & constantly drew towards his person.

Zam thought she knew most of the guests by the second evening; through face value or even having chatted with them somewhat during the previous day. Males, amorous as ever and even made moreso by power and whatever substances they had chosen to ingest, were easier than females as they made the effort to know her instead.

Hallyre had even spoken to her the previous evening whilst considerably inebriated—a thing of note, considering how difficult it is to make a Zeltron drunk. She could have killed him there and then if only he didn't have a gaggle of females wrapped about him like Dagobah pythons and their prey.

She spent her time then taking note of the faces, each one familiar to some extent, when _he_ came into view.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

The newcomer was totally unknown to her; a human male dressed in what appeared to be a tailored black suit of shimmersilk that fit perfectly onto his well-muscled frame coupled suavely with an onyx half-mask on his face.

The members of high society seemed so familiar with him, which struck Zam as odd, given how he was a complete nobody.

He appeared to be a persona of note indeed in the calm and confident way he carried himself; yet most unusually for a member of the galaxy's elite, he moved with a fluid, natural grace rather than the ill-disguised and hilariously overdone pomposity she so despised.

It was something she knew too well; he moved like _she_ did.

A hunter.

The bourgeoisie were oblivious; probably because of the casual way he seemed to strike conversations and a kind of charm he exuded—one that radiated gravitas and a right to be respected.

Were rich people really _that_ thick? Was he just _that_ good?

Many questions such as these boiled in Zam Wesell's mind; but she had a feeling that this man was less spectator than he was a player.

Still, she had a job to do. Stars help this man if he tried to interfere. Thankfully, he had seemed to dissolve into the roiling sea of the shallow and stupid.

Even more fortuitous for Zam was when Hallyre's red faced master-of-ceremonies had gone up on a nearby podium and announced to the menagerie of guests that the next activity of the night was at hand.

The stars seemed to have aligned for her at that very moment.

She smiled excitedly and was already planning her next move when she felt something her hand in a firm and yet gentle grasp.

Zam's neck cricked at the speed she turned her head about only to gasp slightly when she saw the man in the shimmersilk suit planted a small kiss on her hand.

Butterflies exploded into being in her stomach upon feeling his strong hand, rough with calluses and the softness of his lips on her skin—from shock or arousal she didn't know. She couldn't actually _think_ at the time.

"Dance with me," he said in a steely baritone, his onyx eyes focused on her own.

* * *

On another day, Zam would have laughed had anyone suggested this would happen to her.

She thought she was immune to the charms or threats of those who wouldn't take no for an answer.

A well-placed blaster shot, a poisoned drink, a clandestine explosive. Or even just the threat implied. Most of her would-be seducers would either back down or end up six feet under.

She had thought herself the consummate predator, for what else could she be in her chosen profession?

Not once in her adult life did she feel truly vulnerable until then. How wrong she was in thinking she had encountered everyone who wouldn't take no for an answer.

She had acquiesced to the stranger's request and both of them had joined the bourgeoisie which had begun to dance to the sounds of a complete, live orchestra.

Part of the crowd, they danced; one of his hands on her hip and the other locked with her hand in a gentle grasp, their faces primed to their opposite. Her own were wrapped on his wide, powerful shoulders.

For the first time, she studied the stranger thoroughly under the dimming lights of the great ballroom.

Unconventional would have been the term Zam thought.

Unconventionally handsome in its ruggedness and masculinity, with elements both charming and cruel carved in the piercing black eyes, robust jaw and cropped neatly styled black hair.

"Nervous?" her partner remarked in a crisp Coruscanti accent, looking her straight in the eyes.

His quaint reply snapped her back to reality, and she quickly regained composure.

"Not at all," she spoke baitingly, "I'm just not used to guys asking me out to dance."

He smirked and led her into the slow waltz of the orchestra while she unconsciously followed suit.

"Pity," he continued, "out of all the women here, I find you most interesting. These _boys_ haven't a clue what they're missing."

_Playing, are we?_

"I have that effect on most men, and some ladies as well," Zam smiled, "what makes you say that?"

"Oh," he said, bringing her into a low sweep that brought them almost face-to-face, "just that there's more to you than meets the eye."

"I could say the same about you."

Was he foolhardy or fearless? Zam couldn't tell. Oddly, the thought of this unknown excited her, and she decided to play his game a little bit longer.

A crooked smile, wicked and enticing, was his reply.

"I would have said that a woman such as yourself was here to take part of the festivities," the man in the half-mask whispered as they spun slowly, "or get acquainted with certain kinds…of company."

"You could say that."

She couldn't tell what lay behind that suave smirk. Whoever this man was, he was something else.

"We both know that you're not."

"Not what?" Zam said coyly.

"Now you're just being rude", he chuckled.

His steely gaze never left Zam and she kept hers from leaving the deep onyx pools glinting from behind his black half-mask.

_The eyes of a predator_, she thought, biting her lip.

So engrossed they were with each other that they did not seem to notice when the crowning glory of the dance took place while the rest experienced a moment of wonder.

A technological marvel brought about by both the most sophisticated holographic technology and ingenious use of the laws of optics, the entire ballroom—floors, walls and ceiling—appeared to have dissolved away into nothing to reveal an endless glittering expanse of lights; the city by night below and the cosmos with Coruscant's three moons all about.

The crowd was dancing in the clouds, if not well among the stars.

"I'd love to just dance the night away," the rugged stranger continued, "but it would be rude not to know even a little bit about each other."

"What makes you think I want to?"

Those words came out harsher than she would have wanted, and she mentally chastised herself for doing so.

"My lady," he chuckled again, the stars shining bright in his eyes, "playing hard-to-get is a game I _never_ lose in."

It was there that Zam realized that she had played into _his_ hands. How foolish she thought herself was! She was wasting time with this obnoxious, brazen blowhard when she had a contract. She wanted more than ever to leave his grasp, and yet knew that she could not.

There was just something about him.

_Something_…

She decided to continue the game while she still had a few cards up her sleeve.

"Alright. What would you like to know about little old me?" she winked from beneath her pale mask.

"That," his voice like velvet, "is entirely up to you."

He led her into another slow turn, her feet mirroring his own as best she could. That predatory charm he exuded was just as powerful in the way he moved, she observed.

"Alright," she said dryly and half-jokingly, "I guess you can tell I'm not just any girl from these parts."

He gave a small laugh, relishing the joke between them while they continued to sway amongst the glittering lights.

She took that as a good sign.

"I'm a lady of…_unusual_ tastes," the Clawdite teased beneath her pale moonstone mask, "you could say I'm _dangerous_. Does that frighten you—? Hm, after all this time, I never got your name. It seems like an ungentlemanly thing to do."

The man in the onyx half mask lifted his eyebrows, still wearing that confident smirk on his lips as if humoring her.

"Fett," he replied casually, "Jango Fett."


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

Zam didn't quite hear herself gasp.

_Is he serious?_

Despite her own incredulity, somehow it could all just be _true_.

She most certainly had heard of who he claimed to be.

Mercenaries and assassins are a dime-a-dozen. A life like theirs was often short, brutal, and violent. Their names come and go and the galaxy simply moves on.

Yet there are times when one of these guns-for-hire garners a reputation so bold and so fearsome that the underworld of the galaxy trembles upon their being mentioned, and entire systems would pay through the nose simply to have such an individual on their back, or for a job.

At that point in galactic history, none have surpassed the mysterious Jango Fett.

He was Mandalorian; that much was plain for all to see from the infamous suit of armor he was known to sport.

The very word 'Mandalorian' inspired awe and fear in those who are read in history, lest they forget how they, once the most elite fighting force the galaxy had ever known, had nearly obliterated the Republic in concert with the legendary Sith Lords Revan and Malak many centuries before. They had since been trying to reclaim their lost glory and instead had slowly declined throughout the passing of the ages.

Fett was supposedly one of the last of his kind; if anything, it raised his legend even more.

That he was ruthless was unquestionable. That he was bold, undoubted. That he was effective, an ineffectual word to describe the long list of marks he had eliminated and the many battles which he had singlehandedly won.

She also knew that every single being who had attempted to wrest his crown had joined the countless others he had sent to the graveyard.

Despite all those famed exploits spoken in hushed tones within the underbellies of worlds as different as Nar Shaddaa was from Tatooine, nobody really knew who Jango Fett was.

Nobody had ever even _seen_ the man behind the mask.

Or at least nobody left alive.

_A perfect disguise. A perfect reputation._

For many an aspiring soldier-of-fortune, Jango Fett's reality was but a fever dream. So few had realized even a glimmer of that kind of success, and even less having lived long enough to enjoy it.

Perhaps it was the alcohol she had been drinking. Perhaps she was still punch-drunk from how nonchalant the galaxy's premier killer-for-hire was on revealing himself to her. Whatever reason it was, the aspiring Clawdite would reflect on later days just how childish it might have seemed.

"You're kidding."

"Should I be?" he raised his eyebrows. His confidence was both unnerving and…_enthralling_, Zam thought.

"If you are who you say you are, Mr. Fett," Zam said as calmly as she could, "I find it hard to understand why you would reveal yourself to a complete stranger such as myself. You don't even know my name."

At that, Coruscant's primary had finally gone down the horizon and for a blink of an eye, Zam thought that they were alone in the cosmos with only the stars dancing in concert as their company.

Under starlight both artificial and natural did his firm yet tender touch keep her close and all but face-to-face.

"I've only given you my name," he said in a veritable purr that sent shivers of arousal down Zam's naked spine, "something you would have known anyway given time."

For the first time that evening, Zam Wesell was at a loss for words. Not only did she feel that this man really _was_ Jango Fett, but that she was losing at every turn to him. What words she might have had, what guile she threw at him looked amateur when he would swing them around without so much as breaking a sweat.

"Would you like to know what else I've garnered about you?"

His deep voice ringing among the dancing stars brought her back.

"Try me," she whispered back as confidently as she could.

"You are either a thief, a con-artist or an assassin. Whichever comes first or all at the same time," he continued casually as they danced, "I would say you're charmingly skilled, if a bit green. I've observed a bit of your handiwork yesterday in the central computer and I must say, I was impressed…

_Stars end! Yesterday?_ She thought in disbelief; she was all but invisible when she had hacked into the system and had taken every precaution possible to clean up her tracks.

"…you've been surveying this whole mess of jackanapes since then. Fooling them into thinking you're just another pretty face looking for a leg-up."

He drew her close again, their faces almost nose to nose.

"I am willing to bet that we have…a common objective," he said.

His gaze was at something over her shoulder and he gave a small nod of acknowledgment as he did.

Zam looked around and the boisterous figure of Aucrates Hallyre came into sight from within the arms of some masked female paramour of his.

"I do hope that doesn't make things…complicated," he casually continued, "I like your style…deception, misdirection, and charm. Essentials in our trade as creatures of the night. I suppose being a Clawdite makes it fairly easier."

_How?_ She would have choked out, and yet for some reason she could only smile at how good this man was in playing the game.

"Were I a lesser man, I would probably be taken as well by your act."

Zam blinked. _Did he just _compliment _me_?

Truly, there was a hunger within those predatory eyes.

She saw an opportunity and by the Force, she was not about to let it pass by. Her choice was mad, but then again, this whole affair had been madness from the start.

"It's not every day I meet someone as sharp as you, Mister…Fett," she replied inquisitively, "but are you sure I was pretending the _whole_ time?"

At that she swept her leg slowly and softly over the backs of his thighs while he again brought her into another low swing just as the orchestra's waltz ended _a sforzando. _

"Meet me in an hour in this room, Mister Fett," she said in a siren's voice, softly placing a pass-key to her luxurious quarters into his hand, "and perhaps we could…know each other even better."

His strong, calloused fingers she felt gently pulling away her moonstone mask, baring her face of choice in all its beauty, just as they closed deftly on the pass-key she had offered.

Even though she was more nervous than she had been in years, Zam thought that for once, she had finally taken the lead in their little dance.

"An hour it is," he said, his voice a sensual, pleasing sound to her ears, all the universe sparkling in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV **

The corridors leading to the residential area were lit in a soft lights approximating those of antiquated candles.

It was well past midnight, and nearly the time that the woman in the cerulean gown had set for them.

By his own admission, Jango Fett was almost never nervous.

It was not a choice in his profession.

Anxiety bred fear, and to be afraid is to lose half the battle already. Yet he could not deny the heart that pounded in his chest nor the certain restlessness he felt while striding toward her residence.

It was a different kind of nervousness he felt, one which felt almost alien to the Mandalorian. Oddly however, he was enjoying the experience.

He had almost forgotten the excitement of unpredictability.

True, he had won their little joust in the cosmic ballroom. Then again, she was but a new face. A relative stranger to a game he had played so many times that the rules were but words to be bent and used to his advantage.

Many a man had fallen by his hands, but few knew that he had sent a comparable number to the grave simply by his word. One way or another, tonight's romp was won't to end.

_Find._

The sharply dressed Mandalorian drew out the pass-key upon reaching her door, absentmindedly brushing one of two priceless, custom-built WESTAR-34 blaster pistols he kept on expertly crafted holsters invisible beneath his dinner jacket.

_Fix._

Jango examined the pass-key for a moment, seemingly having taken a step-back to ruminate on what might happen next. Inserting it into the lock, he let out a sigh at once giddy as it was determined; the sound of resignation to whatever fate had in store for him.

_Finish._

* * *

Incense made of sweet herbs and sultry femininity caressed Jango's nose when he entered her domain.

_She's good_, he thought, taking in the small, yet excessively luxurious quarters she had swindled.

_She's very good._

The female Clawdite's suite was made to look like a classic Serennian villa in miniature; a courtyard like expanse of black marble polished to a mirror finish with two artificial brooks crossing the small gardens on either side.

Where there was supposed to be a roofed-in atrium was a small patio located atop a raised stucco platform where she sat, smiling directly at him, at the head of a small, round bronzium table ready with two crystal goblets filled with prime vintage and a softly burning wroshyr bloom nectar candle.

All that with only candlelight, and the Coruscanti night above and below as witness.

The chair right in front of her was empty and Jango did not wait for her to ask him to take a seat.

The teasing smile on the changeling's human face only grew, seemingly humoring him while she raised her glass and he followed suit.

The starlight made her ivory skin sparkle and Jango could not help but admire it.

"It's not poisoned, you know," the woman chuckled, sipping from her goblet.

Jango smirked, "You can hardly blame me for being cautious."

"Touché."

They both took a sip of the vintage, not once taking their eyes off the other. Jango could not help but ponder when the snare she had set was to be sprung.

A true hunter to the very end, he understood that in order to vanquish one's enemy, one sometimes had to play by their rules. That understanding was what separated the usual mercenary from the elite such as himself.

In other words, when a trap is set, sometimes it is best to spring it.

"Interesting choice, you've made," he piped.

"I don't understand."

"_This_ life. Your...talents are impressive, yet I cannot help but wonder why you chose this path. It's a hard life and your skills are easily able to carve a niche in less...dangerous careers."

"I was never the kind of girl who settles down," she said, smacking her lips, "I've always been...attracted, you could say, to more exhilarating things."

The Mandalorian saw that sultry smile grow wider under the soft light.

"Quite," he said, humoring her, "first hit?"

"Neimoidian broker. Embezzled a few million credits from the Banking Clan," she nonchalantly said, "nothing too special. The IBC just wanted to keep their rep squeaky clean."

"Didn't give you too much trouble, I think?"

"On the contrary, Mister Fett, I had a very difficult time pinning him down," she gave a small laugh, "Even for a Neimoidian, this karker knew how to hide."

"A lesson in tracking."

"Mm," the nameless female agreed, "not to mention, ten million credits is quite an offer for a first timer. How about you?"

He took another swig; enjoying the verbal joust. Aged Serrenian wine had never tasted better.

Their discourse also felt curiously cathartic—Jango could count with one hand with fingers to spare the number of times he had discussed details of his past with another being.

"Fifty aurodium ingots. Local loan shark from Concord Dawn who riled up the wrong people."

As he spoke, he did not miss the ephemeral look of surprise on his erstwhile host's face.

"Not at all my cleanest kill, but certainly a memorable one," reminiscing how he had been forced to use a length of plain cord to strangle the man.

"_The _Jango Fett, from Concord Dawn?" she genuinely exclaimed, "who would have known the best soldier-of-fortune in the galaxy had such...humble origins. Also, fifty ingots isn't much. Even if they were aurodium."

"I _was_ twelve at the time and on my own," he chuckled, "What's a poor lad to do?"

"_Twelve,_" the female changeling piped, "when I was twelve, the most worry I had was how to maintain a guise long enough to fool boys I liked."

They both laughed lightly. Somehow the tension in the air had eased, yet Jango refused to let his guard down.

_Charming as she is…_

"I'm guessing you were a runaway when you were younger," genuine interest in her voice, "family problems?"

"A runaway?" the Mandalorian snorted, "do tell."

He watched the changeling woman put down her glass in order to cradle her chin. Her expression coy and intrigued, her eyes sparkling under the golden firelight.

"It's that _swagger_ you have. I can't think of another word for it," she continued, "it speaks of someone having had to toughen up before his time. A child who has seen too much. Or perhaps in your case, _done_ too much as well."

"Go on."

She raised an immaculately trimmed eyebrow. The fire revealed her eyes sparkling like pure amethyst and Jango unconsciously narrowed his eyes in a primal hunger all of a sudden.

"Your reputation precedes you; and it tells me even more of having to grow up in hardship," she then playfully rubbed the rim of her goblet on her lower lip.

A gesture at once teasing as it was inquiring…

"Is _the _Jango Fett still a little boy deep inside who needs to prove himself to the world? All this to be a 'big tough man'?"

Irreverence.

Ah, Jango knew all too well where that came from and rather than be insulted, admired the female changeling even more.

"Did I get that right, Mister Fett?", the woman piped with childlike innocence in its tone.

"On the contrary," Jango couldn't help but smile, "I was _not_ a runaway. No, but you were right about one thing—I had to grow up fast. Such is the fate that befalls orphans in worlds like mine."

He was not quite sure if it was the light of the fire or the countless stars shining ever brighter or his eyes simply playing tricks with him during that long, interesting evening, but the Mandalorian could have sworn that her expression appeared have softened considerably.

Be as it may, Jango had little time to be soft. He needed to know what and who he truly was up against in the unfolding game.

_Find._

"If you don't mind me saying," he purred, steering the conversation into his favor, "judging by your words, I would say that _you_ were quite the delinquent. Your first thoughts of me also went to hardship while I was little, and I would say the same applies to you."

_Fix._

"You have a taste for glamour so perhaps a 'straight' lifestyle did not appeal. Or maybe it could not get what you wanted in life. So you delved into the underworld and found…you had a dab hand at it."

_Finish._

"You have an independent streak. A certain rebelliousness. Did those who trained you in our ways approve of everything you did? Impasse perhaps?"

The smirk on her face seemed to tell Jango he had hit a few nerves. He had no intention of stopping just yet. In that war of wills, the one with the best composure claims victory.

"I do hope they did not throw you out," he remarked, a note of sympathy in his voice.

The twinkle of the firelight and a bemused smile was her only reply.

"I see," he raised his glass, "Traditionalists. We cannot live with them, can't live without them. Were you a part of _that_ crowd, just as you were attempting tonight with Hallyre and his posse—what would you do?"

"_Noblesse oblige_, I suppose?" the female changeling replied rather nonchalantly.

The Mandalorian snorted despite himself. She had pronounced the latter word as _oh-blee-jay_.

"What?"

"_Noblesse oblige,_" he repeated perfectly with impeccable Serennian inflection; _oh-bleez,_ as it was originally derived.

"You have great skill. But if you plan on becoming truly invisible to _this_ crowd, there are still some lessons to be learned, my dear."

"Show off," she pouted, "What's next then? A lesson on how to hold a knife and fork as the rich and famous do?"

The effect was meant to be comical and while he saw through it, laughed with her nonetheless.

_You _are_ good. _The seasoned assassin thought admirably; his mild intoxication and the lateness of the hour notwithstanding.

"Are we to spend the night playing 'twenty questions'?" biting her lip coyly, "this is starting to look like something out of a reality holoshow."

"Fiery, aren't you?"

"Only when I have to be," she teased further, "how do you find the wine?"

As the question was being asked, the woman sipped again at the vintage; her amethyst eyes never leaving the deep black pools of the Mandalorian.

"Aging by the minute," he smirked, not missing the gesture, "and better for it."

She flashed her perfect teeth at him and attempted to refill both their goblets.

_Ah_, her expression betrayed her thoughts. The bottle was finally spent.

"Allow me," she smiled and rose from her seat.

A gentleman even to the end, he followed suit and sat down shortly after, "Madam."

The woman in the cerulean gown then disappeared behind a marble pillar, seemingly oblivious to how those dark eyes tracked her every move while they still could.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

The Mandalorian silently stood up and began to examine his surroundings in detail the moment his guest had gone from view.

Starlight bathed the miniature villa and it gave a feeling of calmness…of innocence to the place.

He made quite an impression wandering a bit through the courtyard, aware that even his easy footsteps sounded sharp on the immaculate black marble.

_Come now, darling…_

Too many times had he been on someone's crosshairs that he instinctively knew he was being watched.

He felt a rush of pleasure. That warrior spirit of his was ready…along with something more primal.

Oh yes; while he was no fool, he readily admitted he had enjoyed the evening.

_If only,_ he smiled almost wistfully, _if only._

* * *

It was innocuous.

Almost inconsequential.

A tiny spherical device that could easily fit in a human's palm which made a soft tinkling noise even as it bounced on the pristine marble floor.

Were he a lesser man, he would have thought none of it or worse; picked it up to examine it.

But he was Jango Fett.

He recognized it as a stun grenade—one designed to blind and deafen opponents momentarily—and promptly leapt for cover opposite one of the many great pillars of the room to avoid becoming insensate even for just a few crucial moments.

Just as he was to catch his breath did his erstwhile host suddenly leap from the shadows—her skin having turned pitch black—pinning him down on his back.

Acting on impulse, he grabbed her wrists while she attempted to choke him with one hand and to still the other bearing down onto him a lethal looking-syringe.

* * *

For some time they were locked in that odd embrace; at once sensuous at it was lethal.

The woman was on top and he, somewhat ruffled, was attempting to stop her from stabbing him.

In the dim light of the stars, an observer might have thought another sort of frivolity was taking place.

She surprised the seasoned assassin with her strength, and was mere inches from eliminating perhaps the biggest competition of all and yet…

A part of her told her not to kill him. _Begged _her in fact to cease for whatever reason.

Whatever it was, it was not nearly enough to stop her from trying.

_And if I fail?_

She let what doubt she had left to hang in the air.

She knew she was winning; but the famed Mandalorian was putting up a good fight as was his due.

It didn't take her long to notice his plan; she was inching the hand wrapped about his neck into the path of the poison-laden needle.

_Kriff!_ she cursed herself for not foreseeing that debacle.

She could not let go of his neck without letting his other hand free, else she would have to let go of her weapon in the inevitable scuffle.

In that moment of uncertainty, her guest took his chance.

Suddenly, there was a loss of resistance from the arm bearing down on her mark and instead felt it and its deadly implement being thrust sharply toward the naked dorsum of her other hand.

Something had to give; alas, she let the kouhunin syringe fly into the distance an instant before it was to strike her own flesh.

* * *

Under the light of the stars, man and woman seemed to trail the fall of the lethal needle in slow motion.

Both were momentarily transfixed yet at the back of their minds knew that whomever would recover first from that reverie had the best chance at leading their deadly dance.

She was faster than he, and stronger.

She scrambled for the weapon, freeing him from her grasp as a result.

Insight and experience however were his allies. It was _his_ turn to unveil his own instrument.

There was a click, the brief yet fearsome snarl of a blaster discharge, and the scarlet comet it birthed careened through space in no time at all.

She was fast; but his weapon was far faster.

Instantly the kouhunin syringe she sought had become smoldering atoms surrendering themselves to the whim of the cosmos.

Their eyes met for an instant. Was it hesitation they saw in their opposite?

Contemplation gave way to action as the still-supine man unleashed a new volley of bolts, starting the dance anew, prompting her to spring like a cat in order to avoid the lethal lines of light.

* * *

In the moments hence, it was as if they had resumed their dance a few hours back to a different kind of song.

One would have thought neither had had a little too much to drink that evening, what with their feet and fists flying about with unbridled gusto and malignant grace.

Thrown ornaments and blades were answered by blasterfire or fisticuffs, with either man or woman trying to get the better of the other.

They exchanged no words during their impromptu performance—their actions spoke volumes that no amount of speech can ever express.

The villa-like expanse suited their dance well—the best stage with only the endless sky outside their witness and silence, otherwise, the orchestra providing the score.

The outside world all but oblivious to the spectacle taking place.

Her strength and shapeshifting talents met its match in his skill and ingenuity and soon enough, the dance had come to a draw quite literally on either side of a massive stone pillar that took the brunt of the music his favored weapon made.

Zam herself had managed to obtain her own weapon; a sleek holdout, it was nowhere near as powerful as the Mandalorian's custom-built blaster but it was enough for the purpose at hand.

Still caught in a frenzy, Zam knew that whoever was faster would win that night.

She could hear his heavy breaths from the other side of the wall and knew all too well that his finger was cocked and ready on the trigger.

Oddly, she felt no fear. The changeling instead felt…_excited_ at what was to come.

Was it certain death? Surely it was not that simple?

Her logic dictated the former.

Her heart sang of the latter.

Impasse otherwise, Zam Wesell sighed and acted—whatever would be, will be.

* * *

Man and woman acted as one.

Under starlight came the close of their second dance; his weapon poised inches from her forehead and her own aimed at his heart.

The stalemate was a surprise for the Mandalorian.

Had it been anyone else and Jango would have already been counting his credits. Somehow, something inside had prevented him from pulling the trigger at the most critical instant.

It was a lethal mistake.

_Was it?_

He looked into his host's eyes and within saw a similar kind of confusion as her skin once again returned to a human shade of pink.

As it did, he could not help but feel a carnal rush surge through his being.

It would have been no trouble at all to pull the trigger—she may be green compared to him, but in the short time that they had spent with one another, she had shown that she could hold her own against anyone.

Jango was freely ready to admit that the female changeling had definitely earned his respect for that and much more.

So why had she hesitated as well?

Jango was not a gambler by nature. His profession—no, the very nature of the galaxy made it clear long ago that to play dice was to become as fools.

_Find._

Even when he was a boy, he believed that there was no such thing as a second chance.

_Fix._

He felt no fear; only an odd amusement at how there truly was a first time for everything.

_Finish._


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

The custom-built blaster dropped with an audible clack on the hard floor of the villa.

The hand that was poised trigger at the ready to end her life lay slack and relaxed.

She still held the Mandalorian at gunpoint even as his dark eyes unmistakably began to smolder in the scintillating lights.

Even ruffled and somewhat battered, this man was something else, a part of her mused.

Her heart accelerated from an adrenaline rush that had nothing to do with their earlier exertions. A thousand questions instantly erupted from the back of her mind that had nothing at all to do with eliminating the competition.

Just as they came into being were these as quickly forgotten when her guest took her face into his hands and pulled her lips onto his.

She dropped her own weapon when she responded in kind and with admirable vigor.

Intimate and yet alien, exciting and yet somehow…_expected_ both of them mused.

She grew weak in his grasp; feeling this, he took the rest of her into his arms, unwilling to break the dance then perpetuated by their lips and tongues.

Those calloused hands, infamous and lethal, she felt slowly and sensually running down her back, tracing the curves of her chosen form.

She was a fly caught in a poisonous blossom's embrace, but a fly that nonetheless savored the sweet, intoxicating nectar for as long as it would last.

The female changeling had never experienced such a thing before.

It was exhilarating.

It was glorious.

It was _dangerous_.

In no time at all, those strong, masculine hands began to pull away at her then-rather worn sapphire gown and she was all but ready to help him had she not been doing the same to his suit.

'Twas an eternity too brief, their lips parted and instead their eyes beheld the spectacle of each other laid bare.

Here was the most lethal man in the galaxy, laid bare to her as she was to him, as vulnerable as he can possibly be.

Zam had no words as she traced her erstwhile lover's scarred and muscled chest, as she laid her touch on that chiseled jaw.

Their eyes met again and she saw her hunger reflected in his own.

Jango kissed her again; stronger this time, and laying her hard against the ruined stone pillar.

She quivered and gasped upon feeling the rough stone on her naked skin, and her desire brought his already aching loins into a frenzy.

He had always been a predator, but now was a time for another kind of blood.

How she aroused him, _inflamed _him, this woman of many forms and faces.

How could someone that beautiful be that dangerous?

He did not care to have an answer.

He took her then and there, a rapturous gasp her reply as she forced her body to accept his own as an offering.

Even in such an arrangement, Jango Fett proved that he was a professional and let his body do the rest.

Soon her cries and whimpers of pleasure and the music bodies make while making love the only sounds echoing through the empty villa.

There was nothing else in the universe but the both of them in this most intimate dance, in their ultimate battle.

The beat of their bodies was to the drums of war, but here was a war where there were no losers and only victors.

They had already won in fact, but could not begin to care about how or why.

Such victory it seemed was meaningless as only woman, man and that most primal and dynamic attraction existed between them.

She bit his neck in a fit of ecstasy, her fingernails digging into his muscled back, telling him she was close to her peak…and the Mandalorian, ever the dauntless warrior, took it as the signal to pound on until victory was achieved.

Pound on he did and so did she, that warrior of a woman.

For every action, after all, there must be an equal and opposite reaction.

The night was young, their spirits still full, their bodies still wanting, and the dance far from over.

_Fight on, darling_, his fleeting thoughts went as his body continued to beat in time with hers.

_Fight on…_


	7. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

All too soon it seemed, and they were spent.

The dawn was yet to arrive in a few more hours. Had all of that happened so quickly?

They could not say nor did they really care.

The erstwhile lovers laid naked and sweaty on the scarred Serennian marble, hands wrapped about each other and finding quiet ecstasy in the others' embrace.

"I can't promise," she joked, "that I won't kill you first thing when we wake up later in the day. _Then _I'll take out Hallyre."

"Only if we have breakfast together first," he retorted in his native Concord Dawn accent, looking her straight in those sultry eyes.

It was a beautiful thing for her.

"Zam," she smiled genuinely, "Zam Wesell."

It was the most intimate gesture she could think of.

While she did not know what kind of future this may bring…she was at least certain, that there was to be a future with him.

Smiling, Jango grasped both of her hands and softly brought them to his lips.

"Charmed," he purred, smiling rakishly.

Soon after and still in the heat of the moment, their lips and bodies met once more.

The fire of their passion burned bright, seemingly reflected by the dancing lights outside.

The lights of the city of stars.


End file.
